


In From The Cold

by Chuksha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Catholic!snape, Christmas Eve, Gen, No Slash, Not Preachy, PostWar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 19:43:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13130754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuksha/pseuds/Chuksha
Summary: The war is over and Severus is looking forward to a quiet Christmas Eve in front of the TV, then Harry Potter shows up on his doorstep because Minerva is an interfering old tabby.





	In From The Cold

Severus had been enjoying a perfectly quiet Christmas Eve when a knock at the front door cut through the low hum of his television. He glanced up at the window and frowned, the snow was falling thick and fast and he could think of no one who would brave such unforgiving conditions to visit _him_. Still grateful that he was no longer so dependent on the cane he left propped up by the armchair that he needed it for this, he didn’t forget to drop his wand from his sleeve into his hand as he turned the key and pushed down on the front door handle.

“Potter.” Severus wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or appalled at the appearance of Harry Potter on his doorstep tonight. The teen opened his mouth and closed it without speaking and Severus was struck by the completely inappropriate attire the boy was wearing. He had nothing but a tee shirt on his top half and a pair of jeans that looked like he had borrowed them from a car mechanic over badly scuffed trainers.

Severus sighed at the boy’s expression, Minerva must have sent him to make sure Severus wasn’t dead- at least she’d not sent Hagrid with another Christmas tree. The half-giant had failed to grasp that a twelve-foot tree would not fit into the main room of a two-bedroom pre-war council house until he’d stepped inside and hit the top of the interior doorframe when passing under. He’d nearly taken the wall down with the force of it but the message had been well and truly hammered into his skull.

Severus stepped aside and fixed Potter with a glare. “I did not spend seventeen years keeping you alive for you to freeze to death on my doorstep.” Potter at least had the decency to look contrite. “In. Now!” The boy didn’t need telling twice. He was already through the door when the voice called through the darkness.

“Severus!” So much for his quiet Christmas Eve with the BBC Midnight Mass build-up broadcast. The sight of the priest in his garden meant that all of his intentions of behaving himself, not giving his healer a heart attack by risking collapsing in the snow when the cold attacked his sensitive nervous system, and staying in tonight were slowly disintegrating. Severus waited as the man stalked up his driveway and Severus gestured inside without a word.

“Ah, my apologies Severus I wasn’t aware you had company.” Potter was staring at the priest like he’d never seen one before. Severus couldn’t imagine that but he supposed it was possible. Severus fixed the man with an impatient look, he was one of the few people still living whom Severus would never turn away from his home and took the former Professor's prickly temper in his stride.

“Actually, Father, you are just in time, I was about to make a fresh cup of tea.” Severus fixed Potter with a look. “Still milk and two sugars, Potter?” The young man blinked owlishly in surprise.

“How do yo-?” Severus scowled pointedly. He’d watched Potter take breakfast for six years, his tea drinking habits weren’t exactly a mystery. “Yes, thank you.” The silence grew oppressive quickly and Severus was acutely aware that as they were in his home it was his duty to do something about it as the kettle boiled. For some reason, they had both followed him into the kitchen and collected around his aged dining table; _did guests normally do that?_ He’d never had any to know.

“Sit,” He gestured. Potter seemed to be in shock at his behaviour but Severus didn’t care, he was in his own home and he was entitled to feel comfortable in it now he had managed to spell every inch clean and remove all trace of any death eater who had ever set foot in it. “I would have thought you would be preparing for Mass, Father?” The priest half smiled and accepted the cup Severus handed him after adding milk to it.

“I am… here.” Severus sighed pointedly.

“Did you not receive my message?” Severus had sent word he wouldn’t be coming tonight, and perhaps not tomorrow, when he’d determined that his healer was probably correct to tell him not to risk the cold.

“Severus, you have never missed a Midnight Mass in your life... is a priest not allowed to show concern for a parishioner on Christmas Eve?”

“You’re Catholic!” Potter blurted out suddenly. Severus fixed him with a filthy look. Potter was still as obtuse as ever, then.

“The priest in my kitchen was not your first clue?” To his credit, the priest in question chuckled good-naturedly at Severus’ comment and gave Potter an almost kindly smile to temper Severus’ contemptuous glare. “You would have preferred I sent no message?” He directed at the priest and he handed Potter his tea. Severus watched at his two guests, Father McGuire was openly studying Potter.

“Do I know you, young man?” Potter’s alarmed expression was almost amusing to witness and his confounded babbling only made it more so. Eventually, Severus took pity on the boy.

“He is Doctor Evans’ grandson.” Potter’s expression fell open in shock; Severus had been quite surprised not to be hounded for information on the Evans family and apparently, that meant he had enough goodwill to introduce Potter to someone who might want to tell him about them.

“Doctor? Doctor of what?”

“Of _medicine_ , Potter...” that was rather shocking that Petunia hadn’t at least told the boy that much. Severus sipped his tea as Potter finally closed his mouth.

“Oh, of course, he had two daughters.” Severus almost dreaded the next words, everyone in this area referred to Petunia and Lily the same way even all these years later. “The flower girls.” Potter was clearly stunned.

“Perhaps, Father,” Severus said slowly when it was clear Potter hadn’t managed to figure out how to string a sentence together after the shock mention of his family, “You might enlighten the young man as to his family history.” The priest seemed taken aback. “His mother was the youngest and my own age, so, of course, my knowledge of them is limited...”

“Of course, terrible business that.” Severus made a sound of polite assent. Father McGuire had _no idea._

“What do you mean?” Potter was glancing between them rapidly and it occurred to Severus how cruel giving the boy no information about his family had been. Petunia and Albus has a lot to answer for. The priest looked Potter over searchingly.

“I presume you were raised by your aunt?” Potter gaped.

“How could you know that?”

“Your mother was killed in a _gas_ explosion... Potter, people remember her as a child. It is unlikely they would forget such details.” Potter’s eyes went wide and for a moment his expression turned calculating before it blanked. Severus found himself hoping the boy was in enough of his right mind that he’d understood that his grandparents had decided the tale to tell. He decided not to risk it and change the subject before the boy had the ministry on his doorstep trying to alter the Priest’s memory with his babbling.

“Why are you here, Potter?”

“Well it’s Christmas and I was doing the rounds and...”

“Your rounds include my home?”

“I, Er... well yes.”

“And you have no appointments for the next four hours?” Potter stared at him and shook his head, he’d come to Snape last deliberately. Severus wasn’t surprised at the answer, Minerva had probably told Potter that Severus usually attended church on Christmas Eve. “In that case, Potter, there is a coat that should fit you on the hook. I suggest you take it, the walk to the church is long and difficult in the cold.”

“I thought you weren’t coming?” Father McGuire asked, confused. Severus had been planning on staying in with the BBC but if Potter was here he might as well be of some use.

“My doctor insisted I do not travel alone in the cold,” Severus commented and shot a look at Potter. “I will not be.” Potter was floundering at the sudden change in planning.

“But sir I’m not, I mean I’ve never-“ he seemed embarrassed to admit his lack of religious conviction in front of the priest.

“If the church is not open to none believers, particularly on this night, Potter, it is not much of a church.” Potter was staring at him as if he’d never seen him before. Father McGuire clapped his hands together in a mannerism that reminded Severus vaguely of Albus. He was surprised to find the pain of such a memory muted by the kindness in the expression of the man before him.

“In that case, I will go on ahead and prepare for the mass.” He looked eagerly at them. “And see you both there.” Severus didn’t answer but Father McGuire glowed at Potter's hesitant reply.

“Er, Yeah, I suppose.” And Severus had to resist the urge to smirk as he showed the Father to the door.

-

“Not to be rude, professor-“

“I am not your professor.” Severus cut in smoothly, Potter needed to learn to look forwards not back. “You know my name and are a grown man, use it.” He looked taken aback at the comment and apparently had no answer. Severus knew the chance would be a fine thing, most former students never broke the habit.

“Yeah well um, even still, I’ve never seen the inside of a church, I don’t- I doubt I’d be welcome.” Severus raised a questioning eyebrow. Even the thoroughly Gryffindor, and therefore irony deficient, Potter must have seen the lunacy of suggesting that he wouldn’t be welcome in a place that Severus frequented on the basis of being somehow lacking in conviction or righteousness.

“Why?”

“Well,” Potter’s shrug spoke volumes, “they used to leave me at home, say I was too freaky for the church.” Severus stared, he didn’t need to ask who _they_ were. “That no one would want me there around normal people.” Severus rolled his eyes, one day he might decide to visit Petunia and have it out but not tonight. He’d never heard anything so idiotic in his life, and he’d spent nearly two decades teaching Gryffindors.

“Here,” he handed Potter the coat absently after summoning and catching it in mid-air, Potter frowned at it.

“Is this yours?” Severus snorted.

“I never had such broad shoulders, Potter. Just put it on lest you freeze to death outside.”

“You’re... different...” Potter finally said.

“I imagine so, being relieved of the stresses of serving two masters, teaching a core subject and the imminent threat of death or imprisonment will do that to a man.” Severus pointed out, even his sarcasm had less bite these days. He wasn’t too proud to admit, if only to himself, that he didn’t miss it.

Potter finally swung the coat over his shoulders with an almost embarrassed nod, he looked down at himself in shock, it swamped him.

“Did Hagrid leave it here once or something, this is massive!” Severus flicked his wand without a word and the coat shrunk. He couldn’t help the way his hand reached out to fix the collar on it or noticing how thin Potter was compared to the other men in his family. Even as a man he was still very much a child; and not a well-cared for one either. If there was one thing about the whole situation that Severus regretted it was Albus leaving the boy with Petunia, especially, when the boy had other living relatives at the time.

“It was your grandfathers,” Severus told him shortly ignoring Potter’s flush as he withdrew his hand from the collar.

Severus had been fourteen at the time, the dead of winter, with no coat to wear and his father having drunk any money that might have been spent on one even bought from a charity shop. The shrinking charm had worn off years ago and Severus had never had the heart to donate it on.

Doctor Evans had been a good man, he’d punched Tobias Snape that day and broken two fingers in the process. He hadn’t really been much of a fighter so it meant a lot that the doctor had even tried. Severus had taken a beating for it but he’d always maintained it was worth it.

“How?”

“It is a long, sordid tale Potter, suffice to say your grandfather had a kindness in him that many men do not.” Potter opened his mouth as if to argue. “At least for this evening. Call in the new year if you wish for more detail.” Potter looked shocked and Severus realised he’d shocked himself as well; perhaps it was the season bringing out the best, or the mawkish old man, in him- he couldn’t quite decide which. Severus picked up his keys and gestured Potter to the front door. The boy obeyed silently, that thoughtful expression still on his face. “I may even cook and save you from starvation if you give me _some_ warning as to your impending arrival.” He added pointedly and Potter flushed making some mumbled comment comparing Severus to the Weasley matriarch. Severus didn’t dignify it with a response.

“...Besides I was worried if I gave you enough warning I was coming you’d leave the country.” Severus smirked. Finally, Potter was pushing his limits and speaking to him like he was a human being. It was almost relaxing to be able to speak to the young man without the barriers that had been there the last seven years.

“I speak no foreign languages adequately enough to make the idea viable.” Severus quipped and Potter actually laughed. He sobered quickly.

“Who... who decided on the gas explosion story?” Severus froze, hand still on the door handle.

“Your grandparents were distraught, this is a close-knit community and people were asking questions...”

“You?” Potter surmised almost easily, and incorrectly.

“You believe I would have visited them? Am I really so low in your estimation?” Potter frowned. “Perhaps you also believe Pettigrew was a pallbearer.” Potter winced and Severus softened as he pulled the door open. “I had no business approaching them, and was arrested before the funeral.” They’d have had to put a gun to his head to make Severus attend that family with the Dark Mark still sore and burning on his arm. Potter didn’t say anything. “I believe Minerva stopped the ministry official obliviating all memory of magic from your grandparent's minds.” He’d sent a card to their old address, being held pending trial meant he’d been allowed to send post from Azkaban but never known if they received it.

Severus stepped out after setting the muggle alarm and closed the door behind him. A flick of his wrist turned the key and a final tug on the handle confirmed the door properly locked.

“You don’t use spells on it?” Potter asked he seemed genuinely curious and keen to change the subject.

“Too many years living behind wards and security spells,” Severus answered bluntly. “It remains something of a novelty to me to see my home on approach from the end of the street.” Potter’s low ‘oh’ went uncommented on. “This house was under a fidelus charm until a few years ago, I removed it after the secret keeper was killed.”

“Did he tell-?” Of course, that would be what Potter asked. Severus supposed with his history it was only natural.

“No, she carried it to her grave, but it became rather unhelpful to have the spell remain.” Had Severus refused to remove the spell the Dark Lord might have killed him on the spot. Potter didn’t push further despite the obvious curiosity of wondering who Severus trusted that much as they walked. He was just reaching back to close the gate when someone shouted out his name down the street.

“Severus! Severus!” The voice sounded elderly and frail and Severus made a mental note to check on her more often.

“Mrs Lawrence,” he greeted her cordially and she hugged him when she caught up. Severus allowed it with good humour. This woman had known him since he was a child and was oddly affectionate towards him.

“I wanted to catch you before you went to church,” he frowned hoping she hadn’t been stood on her doorstep watching for him long. It was cold and she wasn’t young.

“You are not attending?” That was unusual, she’d been the one to take him and encourage him to attend as a child when his mother had been too beaten or sick to.

“Oh no, dear, not this year, Richard can’t abide the cold.” Her smile turned sad. Severus felt for her, her husband had some muggle illness that left him all but crippled. She plastered on a false smile and patted his hand in an almost motherly fashion. “It’s good to see you up and about though, lad, didn’t think you’d make it for a while there.”

“I’ve had worse than a blood infection, Mrs Lawrence, as you well know,”

“Hmmm,” they shared a knowing look back at his home as the unspoken truth hung between them; almost every neighbour who remembered him as a child, including Mrs Lawrence, had shielded him from his father at least once and most had shielded his mother on occasion as well. It was one of the reasons he had kept the house, these people were a kind of family to him.

He’d put the story out that he’d had a fall in a decrepit old house he’d been chasing students out of (not that far from the truth) and the ensuing neck wound had been infected (again not so far from the truth). “I just wanted to give you this, we only got around to opening yours last night, and ask you a favour.” She handed over what was clearly a Christmas card in a plain envelope and then hesitated.

“Anything for you, madam, you know that by now.”

“I’ll be in with the BBC, but if you’d see our envelope into the donation plate... and stop by John...?” Severus nodded and took the second envelope, pocketing both.

“I always do.” She patted his hands in an almost motherly fashion “you’re a good boy,” he didn’t comment except with a glare and she laughed at him, he’d always be a boy to her and he was of an age that he didn’t mind too much anymore but the faked affront granted a moment of humour and glossed over the moment of grief.

“Have you got somewhere to go tomorrow?” She asked suddenly and Severus froze. Minerva had been nagging him to come up to Hogwarts and Hagrid had been her co-conspirator in the attempt but he’d flat out refused, why Minerva thought he’d _ever_ want to go back to that school was a puzzle he’d never solve. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Severus blinked slowly, still too stunned to fully process what was happening. “Dinner will be served at three, so you’ll have plenty of time to get out of the church once you’re finished there.” He opened his mouth as if to ask. “Like I said, you’re a good boy, Severus, if I couldn’t expect to find you working the food line for the locals with nowhere else tomorrow I’d be disappointed.” Severus managed a weak laugh. He’d been helping at the church dinner for years, after prevailing on its charity for long enough he’d never shaken the feeling that once he was in a position to pass the favour on to the next generation of poor children of Cokeworth it was his duty to do so. He almost laughed at himself, he was far too predictable and sentimental about this town to have survived as long as a spy. In the distance, the sound of bells rolling pulled him from his musings. “Don’t forget Severus, three o’clock.”

“Thank you,” he managed around the lump in his throat, “would you have me bring-“

“Just bring yourself and a smile, we’ve got everything else.”

“I cannot guarantee a smile,” he joked softly even as a small one bloomed on his lips.

“I’m sure you’ll manage for my sake.” A pause. “Off you go then.” She patted his hand again and turned to return to her home.

“Sir? We should-“

“Wait.” Severus hissed lowly and when she had turned away he flicked his wand. Potter must have sensed the spell.

“What did you just do?” He hissed accusingly.

“Monitoring charm, she is an old woman with a hip replacement,” Severus commented.

“I’ll follow her back if you think-“ Severus shook his head as Potter eyed the snow on the ground.

“She’ll be fine, I am simply taking precautions.”

“You’ve known her a long time?”

“Longer than I knew your mother.” Severus didn’t stop walking back towards the church as he spoke. “I fear more for her husband, he is unlikely to live to see the New Year.” Potter stopped dead and Severus rounded on him with yet another glare.

“I do actually intend to attend this service tonight, Potter.” He snapped, the cold was beginning to weep into his clothes and draw the old ache from his knees. It was taking all his will not to resize the shrunken cane he’d picked up on his way out and lean on it.

“Her husband will be dead within a week, and she’s still got time to ask you to put money in a church collection and invite you for Christmas dinner?” Severus half shook his head in question.

“Your point being?” Potter gaped. “Yes, the woman is a saint,” he agreed in a tone that challenged Potter to tell him something he didn’t know, “now, if you are finished dancing around the obvious,” he indicated the road pointedly, “move.” Potter started to walk again. “Before my knees give out under me.” He added mutinously. He hadn't quite expected Potter to hear that.

“Your knees!” Potter seemed surprised. “But you’re not even forty!” It took Severus a moment to realise that Potter meant that as a question and not an exclamation, denial or challenge.

“You try living in dungeons for thirty years and spending twenty kneeling on stone floors under the cruciatus curse before fascist dictators and see how well your knees wear it, Potter.” Potter lost most of the colour from his face at the pronouncement.

“I didn’t realise…” It sounded like an apology.

“Of course not, you think Lucius Malfoy walked with a cane for the fun of it?” Potter winced. “Even fashion does not allow a pureblood wizard of his level of arrogance to admit the weakness a cane implies.” Severus was beginning to feel weak and his extremities were beginning to burn with pain as they finally reached the churchyard and passed through the gates. From here he could see the lights inside.

“Go in,” He directed Potter as they passed some of the graves nearest the path, “I will catch up.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be here to make sure you make it?” Potter pointed out, he was eyeing the door nervously.

“You will not be struck by lightning, Potter. I have a few graves to attend.”

“I’ll wait.” Severus sighed, he wasn’t in the mood to verbally eviscerate the boy so he had to accept it. Severus sighed and stepped off the path.

“Your grandfather is over there,” he pointed absently into the darkness, “in the rich section.” He added without a hint of bitterness. Doctor Evans had worked for a living and the least he deserved was to have a good burial.

Severus had barely been able to afford the hole for his mother in the churchyard at fifteen and had opened a credit account with the local undertaker- he’d been determined to see her here in the Irish sections where she belonged. Admittedly, part of the reason was as one last two-fingers to his bastard of a father who had tried to turn her over to the state until Severus had made it clear that if he tried it he’d better have a place booked in a poor pit. Tobias Snape hadn’t been man enough to argue with the pointed end of a young future death eater’s wand.

Potter didn’t move from his side as his eyes fell on the small stone;

_Eileen Snape Neé Prince_

_14/9/1929-3/6/1975_

_Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth_

He’d been determined to earn the funds for it honestly at the time and take no charity for it. He’d been a teacher by the time the debt had been fully paid. The Undertaker had been very understanding about it all and broken a few laws in the process but there had been no one to care anyway.

He flicked his wand to clear the snow and force a fresh bouquet to grown in the empty flowerpot. Potter seemed torn between feeling the need to stand close by and hovering just out of Severus’ peripheral vision as if trying to be discreet. It wasn’t a bad attempt- for an eighteen-year-old Gryffindor.

Eventually, Severus took a step back, he hadn’t counted on the cold and stumbled. To his horror, Potter caught him before he tumbled. He let out a low curse and loosed his grip on the boy's shoulder as if burnt the minute he had his balance back.

“Are you alright?” Severus managed a nod through gritted teeth.

“As I said earlier- _knees_.” Potter nodded and let go of him almost self-consciously.

“She died when you… were fifteen?” Potter seemed to be particularly affected by that. Severus nodded sharply. “In...” he seemed to count quietly, “June?” Severus looked up at the boy's tone, he seemed to have been shocked by something.

“Yes?”

“That would’ve been, what…? The week before your OWLs?” And suddenly Severus understood the boy's reaction. Of course. It had been such a fixture of his life he had never really considered all the implications of it or what an outsider might presume they were.

“My mother would have duelled death himself to come back and hex me herself had I neglected my education for something as trivial as her untimely passing, Potter.” He said flatly.

“Trivial! But, you can’t- she was your mum!” Severus sighed, he hadn’t meant to offend the boy but not knowing Eileen Prince, he hadn’t thought of her as Snape since he was a child, and her devotion to ensuring her son had an education meant Potter was missing vital information. It seemed he was cursed to have Potter learn his entire life story tonight.

“You have seen the level of deprivation in this town, Potter,” he gestured vaguely, “rest assured it has improved in the last three decades,” he added to a disbelieving look, “do you presume there has ever been a mother to birth a son here and not wish to endure having to watch him join the local mill workforce like his father before him?” Potter frowned. Severus sighed, the past was weighing down on his soul as he explained. “Had she died six weeks later, she would have lived long enough to be content that I had avoided that fate with the exam scores I achieved.” He still hadn’t grasped it. “I saw no reason to deny her the legacy she suffered so dearly for because she had not lived long enough to see it.”

“But there’s no way you can sit exams and focus knowing your mother had just-“ he cut off abruptly, something like respect sparking in his eyes.

“Do not make the error of judging others by your own failure to control your emotions at that age. Not all children have the same opportunity to express themselves, or anyone who would care to humour them in doing so.” Potter’s expression sparked with anger, then- to Severus’ consternation- understanding and before a glimmer of something else that Severus didn’t care to name.

“Wow, Just- wow.” Somehow Severus knew exactly the comparison Potter was considering because it had occurred to him too.

“You may have wrecked the headmaster's office, Potter,” he ignored the surprised look, of course, Albus had warned them all how volatile the boy was that week, “the damage I caused in those circumstances was much longer lasting.” Potter sucked in a sharp intake of breath as he understood. Severus had turned violent, become bitter and twisted but there had been no one to lean on and pull him back from it. He’d paid dearly for his pride and grief-stricken outbursts over the years.

“Didn’t you tell anyone?” Severus’ silence was apparently answer enough. Potter looked almost lost for a moment.

“I did not require anyone’s pity, nor the cloying hypocrisy of those in authority claiming they actually cared,” Potter was staring at him, “when all previous experience had proven otherwise.” He’d had no one and had no intention of throwing himself on Slughorn’s mercy, or Dumbledore’s, at the time. Not whilst he’d still been in school and it had already been made clear to him that he wasn’t worth anyone’s effort or time.

“Not even a friend or... anyone?” Severus frowned, when had he ever given Potter the impression he had _friends_ at Hogwarts?

"I wrote to Lucius Malfoy and arranged a meeting with the Dark Lord, although I presume that is not what you have in mind." Potter's expression turned pained and he was clearly stopping himself asking more.

“Oh! Do quit staring Potter,” he finally snapped, the atmosphere thickened perceptibly between them, “You don’t have the attention span to maintain it.” Potter closed his mouth apparently recognising that Severus was reaching the end of his proverbial wand and the pain in his knees was not helping his temper either.

“We should… probably go inside...” Potter was watching him with no small amount of concern, Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“I am not quite yet decrepit, boy, no need to eye me as if I were next for a place in these ground.”

“A few months ago I’d have said you were,” Potter sniped just as harshly before he softened, “Sorry, I’m still a bit... flippant about death.” Severus couldn’t bring himself to deride the boy for it as the spike of anger drained from his chest.

“You have seen far too much death in your young life, Potter, do not forget to live beyond your grief.” He advised softly, hoping despite himself that Potter might see him and learn from his mistakes. The teen let out a low sigh. “Three down, four across.” He directed after a moment of silence between them and more people passed on the path.

“Who is it?”

“John Lawrence.”

“Lawrence, like the woman outside your house?” Severus nodded. He didn’t stay at this one long except to knock on the headstone and tap his boot on the marble surround in friendly greeting. He’d never imagined that John would have grown into the kind of man to appreciate sentimentality or something as feminine as flowers even on his grave.

“Her son.” Severus didn’t feel the need to give Potter the full history. John Lawrence had been a friend, one of the few children even this side of the river who hadn’t avoided him for fear of his drunken father and the rumours of ‘oddness.’ His grave stood in a row of six, all children under twelve, all with the same date of death.

Potter was staring around at the shaped stones and finally at the dates and his lips were forming silent numbers as he worked out the maths. “This is the children’s section. He was nine years old...” Severus supplied after a moment.

They tended to group deaths by category here; Irish there, rich there, kids here, a wall of plaques by the benches for cremations and a simple cross engraved with a date range over the blessedly now unused mass graves in the back behind the church where whatever was left of Tobias Snape was somewhere in the pile.

“He’s your age,” Potter said flatly, “or would have been.”

“A muggle, there was a fire at the mill,” Severus admitted, his knees felt like they were on fire and his hands were beginning to cramp as well. A warning charm wouldn’t help the after-effects of too long under a cruciatus curse so he had to bear it. Severus nodded into the darkness again. “Your grandfather, five over.” Potter moved closer.

The closer they got the more Severus cursed his failing eyesight. He’d completely missed that there was someone there already. He stopped moving and Potter halted. He hadn’t known there was anyone alive and living locally still with an interest in this grave except for himself. The lone figure was obviously female, in an oversized coat with a fur collar, who carried a small handbag. Severus could just make out that she had a hand to her face and a white handkerchief.

“Dear God! I thought she was dead.” The words slipped from his mouth as easily as the moment of recognition had crossed his consciousness.

“Who?”

“Wait here.” The harsh order slipped from him so easily Severus might have been back teaching third years at Hogwarts for a moment. Potter wasn’t having any of it.

“What? No? Who is she?” He hissed, he was clearly curious and oddly shaken by Severus’ outburst.

“Not someone I intend to have you approach without checking for signs of polyjuice or glamour spells first.” Severus hissed right back, largely because he still didn’t believe it was possible. Potter drew his wand as if ordered to do so but kept it pointed low and in the shadow of his trouser leg. Severus found himself thankful that at some point the boy had clearly figured out how to move strategically.

They exchanged glances and Potter shrugged as if inviting Severus to step forward. In a moment of clarity Severus realised he’d never make it the few feet between them and the woman without aid and so he drew the cane from his pocket and allowed it to grow between his fingers. The moment he shifted his weight onto it was sheer bliss for his knees. He moved carefully between stones over the uneven ground.

“Excuse me,” he greeted the woman quietly, she didn’t look up but he caught the sound of a quiet sniffle, “do you know this man?” He indicated the grave. She seemed to swallow back fresh tears and finally look up at him, Severus nearly passed out from shock and he wasn’t an easy man to frighten. Green eyes and jet black hair peppered with streaks of grey. The years hadn’t wrought as much damage he’d expected and she still looked largely as she had when he’d been a teenager- at least to him.

“I should hope so,” she said almost harshly, “I’m his widow.” Severus wasn’t sure how he’d managed to miss her every year but he wasn’t about to question why the timing had coincided this time. He was usually in the back row of the church by now. “They told me one of the local men stopped occasionally and kept it neat...” she trailed off almost expectantly. “You?”

“I sincerely doubt I am the only one of Doctor Evans’ patients to stop here on occasion, Madame,” he answered smoothly. She clearly didn’t recognise him and he had no intention of revealing who he was- at least for the moment. “It is rather the least those of us from the other side of the river owe him.” He hoped he wasn’t the only one of those children who had never met a doctor, NHS funded or otherwise; until Doctor Evans took it on himself to visit, vaccinate, de-louse, and generally care for them all on a regular basis regardless of their unfortunate circumstances, to frequent his graveside. Surely, he couldn’t have been the only one to remember their duty to the man.

“His own daughter doesn’t come and you do.” The woman dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief again. Severus didn’t comment. “She’s too good for this town nowadays, lives down south.” He was having a hard time biting his tongue and keeping his opinion of Petunia to himself, she’d always thought herself above this place and had a fractious relationship with her parents. He’d always considered her a spoilt brat to judge them harshly when they had never harmed her. He took the opportunity instead to cast a silent revealing charm, nothing happened.

“He’s not forgotten here,” Severus managed as the final fifteen-minute warning bell rang to call the congregation before midnight, “are you alone here?” Her sad smile didn’t disappear.

“As always since he passed.” He suddenly felt extremely awkward. “This is the first time I’ve been back for the midnight mass since my Lily-“ she cut off abruptly.

“You don’t remember me, do you, Mrs Evans?” Maybe it was the mention of his old friend that made him do it, or maybe the sudden realisation that this woman had a grandson she’d probably never met stood a few feet away. He winced and leaned more heavily on the cane as she looked him up and down and frowned. It took her a moment and he was content to let her take it in silence.

“Severus!” He winced at the way her voice rose, in the winter scene around them it seemed out of place. “I haven’t seen you since- I didn’t know you still lived in the area.” He managed a smile and let her babble, he’d forgotten that particular trait of the woman. After the third flustered ‘Merry Christmas,’ and question after his health, she finally settled.

“I do not believe it a coincidence we met here tonight...” he told her eventually as he gestured for Potter to approach.

“Oh?” She seemed overwhelmed at seeing him, perhaps he’d served as a reminder of times she remembered with more fondness than he did.

“Mrs Evans, I don’t believe you’ve met this young man before,” she frowned at Potter, glanced Severus’ way when she recognised the coat he was wearing, but clearly couldn’t make his features out in the dark, “He is-“

“Your grandson.” Potter apparently had much better hearing they Severus gave him credit for; that was the second semi-private conversation he’d overheard the detail of tonight. Mrs Evans clapped a hand to her mouth and gasped in shock. They were staring at each other. Severus deliberately took a step back and caught the tail end of Potter babbling. They were definitely family.

“Why? I don’t understand Aunt Petunia never mentioned you, I assumed-“ he was cut off when Mrs Evans pulled him into an embrace. Severus suddenly felt like he was the one intruding as he pointedly stared up at the church and watched the minutes tick closer to midnight on the clock.

The number of coincidences required for this to happen seemed far too astronomical, surrounded by the fresh snow and frost as organ music filtered out the door of the church, even to his cynical disposition.

“Perhaps we should head for the path before the service begins.” He suggested after a moment. He knew there was no way of getting through the crowd to get inside before they chose to enter now.

“Of course,” Mrs Evans voice sounded so close to breaking that Severus deliberately didn’t look at her for fear he might find the sight of fresh tears too much to bear, “I’ll see you after?” Severus nodded and let her walk ahead. Potter still seemed to be in shock. They still had a few moments to spare so Severus was content to let him process what had just happened.

“Did- is that why you dragged me along here?” Severus shook his head slightly.

“I had no idea she would be here, and frankly Potter had you not been she would have been left presuming to have met a stranger over her husband’s grave.”

“I…” Potter was shivering even in the coat, “thank you.” Severus turned to return to the church. “No, wait, I mean it-“ he turned back to Potter, “I didn’t think I had any family left, not any who cared anyway. Thank you, it can’t have been easy for you to let her know who you were.”

“Move, Potter.” Severus had never been good at accepting gratitude from overemotional teenagers. Potter’s lip quirked into an almost knowing smile as they stepped back onto the path and joined the crowd of people milling around outside.

“Harry, my name’s Harry.” Severus didn’t comment. Students weren’t the only people who struggled to break seven-year habits.

As usual at the service some people were already in and seated, others were waiting here and would follow the priest in. It seemed that after all the dawdling they were going to be in the latter group. He’d barely regained his balance and allowed himself to take a breath when the bell began to toll and people around them began embracing. For no good reason, he found himself watching Potter, whose expression had softened and broken into a smile. The young man caught him staring and flushed as if embarrassed. Someone tapped his shoulder and he turned slightly. Apparently, Mrs Evans had done the same as him and decided not to try and fight her way through the crowd. He didn’t get the chance to do anything before she was hugging him.

“Thank you for bringing him, Severus.” Severus returned the hug in kind rather than actually answering her with words. She let go of him and hugged Potter who mouthed what looked suspiciously like another thank you at him over her shoulder. Severus nodded mutely. Severus didn’t hear what Mrs Evans was saying but Potter nodded into her shoulder before they broke apart.

“You will treasure this woman, Potter,” His scowl felt comical and Potter actually smirked, “or you will wish the Dark Lord had killed you, do we understand each other?” Potter was clearly fighting the urge to laugh and Severus didn’t try too hard to keep his amusement from his expression when Mrs Evans prodded his shoulder and exclaimed his name pointedly.

“Deal.” And Potter held out his hand. Severus took it briefly and they shared a glance upward at the clock. “Merry Christmas… Severus.” Potter dared and Severus broke into a genuine smile.

“Merry Christmas...” and deciding to follow his own instructions for once... “Harry.” Potter smile was bright enough to cast a proverbial halo around him. “Now, for the last time. In... Before we freeze out here.” Pott- Harry’s laugh outlasted the ringing of the midnight bell as they climbed the steps and entered the church alongside Mrs Evans.

Severus was so distracted by the peaceful buzz of a full and blessedly warm church, Harry's still childlike laughter at his expense, and a happy congregation which had spontaneously broken out in a sing-along to the organist's rendition of _The Wexford Carol_ (some, including him, plundering the depths of memories of Christmas past for the words to this, one of only two songs, he could still pronounce in a passable imitation of his mother's once smooth and fluent Irish Gaelic) that he didn’t even notice if his knees protested climbing the steps or the slight post-curse tremor in his hand as it followed the familiar path from the stoup to his forehead, then heart and across his shoulders.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was also published (in abridged form) in Fellowship and Fairydust Winter edition 2017, you can find the free E-zine here and this fic starts on page 73: https://fellowshipandfairydust.com/2017/12/23/if-winter-christmas-2017/


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